


bloodborne kink bingo but it's just laurence

by lady_gt



Series: laurence gets his ass destroyed [9]
Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Anonymity, Begging, Biting, Breathplay, Crossdressing, Dacryphilia, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Face-Sitting, Gangbang, In Public, M/M, Mirrors, Multi, Obedience/Disobedience, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Painplay, Sensory Deprivation, Sex Toys, Spanking, Spit Kink, Vehicular Sex, Virginity, Voyeurism, Writing on Skin, kink bingo, laurence is a massive slut not gonna lie, sorry just needed to upload the ship tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:28:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26151898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_gt/pseuds/lady_gt
Summary: I have a kink bingo card, and Laurence will be subject to all of it. Why? Why not. Will probably alternate between far too many characters and pairings with Laurence, so I'll just mention any relevant pairings in the notes and summaries for individual chapters.(I TAKE REQUESTS AND SUGGESTIONS, HOWEVER, ONLY ONE REQUEST PER PERSON BECAUSE I HAVE MY OWN IDEAS AND ALSO BECAUSE IF MORE PEOPLE SHOW INTEREST IN THIS I'D WANT IT TO BE FAIRER)
Relationships: Brador/Laurence the First Vicar, Laurence/Damian, Laurence/Ludwig (Bloodborne), Laurence/Micolash (Bloodborne)
Series: laurence gets his ass destroyed [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1840924
Comments: 23
Kudos: 21





	1. overstimulation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pairings: laurence/damian.  
> warnings: questionable consent

"You want to come so badly, don't you?"

Laurence can smell the clean, strong leather of the riding crop that slides down his chest. His wrist bones rub up against one another, straining against the rope binding him. Sometimes Damian will be cruel and stuff a gag in his mouth, humming softly as he listens to Laurence gagging on fabric and whatever noises he may make getting muffled. Other times - like today - he is crueler, and leaves the gag out so that for every out-of-place noise Laurence makes he can taunt him over it. He sits on Damian's lap, cock lodged firmly inside him. And Laurence _wants_ release that he can't have, because every time Damian moves inside of him and he feels as though he's about to cum, the movement grinds to a halt.

Laurence nods, tongue trapped between his teeth. Feeling the edges of his teeth pinch against the bumps of his tongue hurts, but it does all the better to keep the noise down. He squeeze his bare legs against Damian's waist.

Damian sets down the riding crop and begins to move again, friction scraping inside of Laurence. He throws his head down, forehead bumping against Damian's shoulder. Pleasure begins to build up in him again, electrifying and making his muscles clench. He breathes heavily through his nose, pushing back against Damian's hand when he presses his fingers into him. _Please give me more,_ he half-sobs in his mind, chest rising and falling with every breath he takes. It's all too much, he can't take it all in, his forehead presses even harder against Damian's shoulder and oh Gods he's let out a barely audible little whine-

The riding crop jabs sharply at one of Laurence's balls and he falls silent.

"Such a little slut," Damian whispers darkly into his ear. "It really doesn't take much to get you all worked up. I'm not even moving anymore and you're still humping me."

At first, he only breathes out through his closed teeth in response. The noise comes out as a peculiar little whistle.

"Please," Laurence chokes out. "Please let me cum."

He's given a harsh tap with the riding crop again - this time right on his ass. Laurence whimpers, shuddering on Damian's lap. He brings his tied wrists closer to himself, knuckles brushing over his chest and feeling his pulse heavy and quick just below the surface. At last he opens his mouth, tongue sticking out trying to shake off the imprints his teeth left, and lets his hot breath hit Damian just below the neck. He thrusts back down on Damian's cock, desperate for that brief flash of pleasure from moments earlier to return to him.

"Not yet."

He stays still, legs shaking from where he's draped them around Damian's lap. His cock is painfully hard and leaking pre-cum, twitching up against his stomach. Laurence forces himself to steady his breathing, even though the lightest touch of the riding crop on his skin comes very close to making him shiver. Eyelids screwing shut, Laurence forces himself to relax - perhaps relax is the wrong word, rather still himself. He forces himself not to tense at Damian's hand creeping first up his thigh and then up his hip, fingernails dragging lightly over his hot skin. He stays still inside of Laurence, moving his hand from the sharp curve of Laurence's hip to settle around the air just above his cock-

With a muffled wail Laurence comes, staining his stomach white. Fear is just as present as anticipation when he feels Damian set down the riding crop and gaze down at him. His lips are tightly pursed into a small frown, when he speaks it is icy cold even if his words are not.

"You came even when I told you you wouldn't yet."

Laurence doesn't lift his head from Damian's shoulder. "I know. I'm sorry. I couldn't help it."

"You couldn't help it?"

He shakes his head. "No."

"You know what I'll have to do to you know that you broke my rules, of course."

"Yes, I know."

Damian pulls him off his cock and slams him onto the bed. Laurence cries out when his back hits the mattress, shaking and struggling to get the air back in his lungs. He can feel the rope chafing at his wrists, scraping lightly upon his skin. When Damian speaks again, his voice is gravelly and dangerously soft.

"You have many virtues. Patience just isn't one of them."

When Damian shoves in carelessly Laurence lets a cry wring its way out of his throat as he feels himself stretch around Damian's cock again. He's near paralyzed for a moment, head twisting around this way and that on the mattress, wrists twisting as much as they can in the rope holding them together.

"You know," says Damian as he thrusts in and out of Laurence mercilessly, the tone of his voice taking on a parody of comfort, "I'm only doing this to help you. You've got to learn how to discipline yourself, after all - and take your punishment, too."

Laurence opens his mouth to tell Damian that he's not nearly as stupid as Damian seems to be making him out to be, but the nudge of Damian's cock against his prostate sends him going limp. He slumps into the bed, moaning loudly. This as well is too much.

"Damian, I-" He's cut off by Damian fucking into him again harshly, the pain and pleasure of the friction inside of him making him tilt his head back into the mattress once more. His hands settle upon Laurence's hips to hold him in place. All he can do is tremble violently, the tingling in the pit of his stomach intensifying. He slams his head into the mattress, inhaling the smell of the cotton bedsheets - it's too much sensation for him to keep track of, too much to even think about.

"Damian!" He calls out again, his voice muffled.

Damian stares down at him with a small, arrogant smile. "You're learning, I see. You thought I was going too hard on you then, but now..."

He pushes back aimlessly against Damian's swollen erection, legs lifting up to squeeze around his sides. He wants this - has wanted it for so long - but he can't take it. His own moaning is near deafening in his ears, body unable to stop trembling in Damian's tight grasp. It's almost painful, being fucked into again and again and again, and so brutally, too. He rolls his back against the sheets, wailing as he's brought to the edge once more even when he thought he was spent.

Laurence is the first one to climax, letting out a pitiful cry. Warmth crests over him, he screws his eyes shut. His muscles clench and unclench, pulse throbbing in his ears. Cum spills from his cock again to land on his skin. Damian finishes a few moments later, dripping slick and heavy into Laurence. He pulls out to watch him: Sweat glistening on his now flushed skin, hair tangled and plastered to his face, shaking still as his moans die down.

"Do you think you've learned your lesson?"

"Mm." Laurence's noise of affirmation comes out as a high whimper. He leans into Damian's touch once more when he feels fingers traipse across his bare skin.

"I'm not entirely sure you have," he says, helping Laurence sit up to untie his wrists, "But I'll be lenient on you today."

He rubs at the rope burns left behind. "You're sure?"

"On a worse day I might just leave you here to think of what you've done - even though you certainly deserve that punishment this time, I can't say I want to go through with it at the moment. Maybe some other day."

He tosses Laurence's clothes at him - forgotten and crumpled up on the floor. "Here, get yourself dressed. We've got things to do soon."

He stays like that for a while, lying still and trying to calm himself down, even long after Damian's footsteps become a sound he can no longer hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the bingo board im using (i nabbed this off of google images): https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DxRtAr_X4AAVpo5.jpg
> 
> suggestions for pairings + specific kinks are welcome! make sure that it has laurence tho


	2. crossdressing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> request for: mrslittletall  
> pairings: laurence/micolash.  
> warnings: humiliation, questionable consent and power imbalance

The dress is long and made of rich blue silk, its soft surface dragging over his legs if he so much as shifts his position slightly. Laurence knows that in most cases the dress would be supported underneath with stiff crinoline and heavy petticoats and maybe a corset fitted over his chest, but he has none of that - that's on purpose. It's what Micolash wants from him. He can remember the smug little smile adorning his face when he'd proposed the idea. _It would suit you,_ he said to Laurence, _And I know how it'd make you feel._

It does suit him. And Laurence is completely and utterly humiliated.

"Well," he says through gritted teeth, "I did what you ask."

Laurence kneels on the bed, fists pressed into the mattress and head tilted down. He can feel himself twitching a little beneath the heavy silk. Micolash's gaze drinks up the sight of him all flushed and exposed, almost as though he's undressing Laurence with his eyes. He keeps his head down, instead focusing upon the bland white sheets till fingers reach under his chin to tilt his head up and he finds his gray eyes meeting black eyes full of mischief and mirth.

"You're very pretty in a dress, you know."

Laurence says nothing, but the blush on his face intensifies.

"Come on, silence is no way to respond to a compliment. Use your words."

"...Thank you."

"Good," Micolash purrs. "Blue's the best color on you."

He begins to close the gap between them, fingers brushing so lightly over Laurence's cheek that it sends a shiver down his spine. Fingers grip at soft, downy blonde hair, his mouth opens slightly. Though Micolash has asked Laurence to drape himself in fine clothing, it's the same as it always is: Micolash holding power and control over him, taunting him and making sure that he knows his place. The exact procedures may be different - maybe in other situations Micolash would pin Laurence down faster, or not let his hot breath fan out against his skin so - but the feelings behind it are always, always the same.

The gap closes between them when Micolash wedges his tongue between Laurence's lips and pushes him down.

He's not doing a thing to hide how eager he is, one hand reaching up to tuck Laurence's hair away from his face, the other leaning down to brush at his skin through the thin layer of silk that acts as a nuisance separating their bodies from one another. Laurence clings to him because he wants to and has nowhere else to hold on to, lets Micolash drink in his soft mewling through their deep kissing. He's hot and moist and rough, tongue scraping around at the soft walls of Laurence's mouth. And he is knowing, feeling the hardness between Laurence's legs pressing up at him from underneath his dress.

"Careful, Laurence," he whispers, jerking his head away.

Laurence struggles to speak, saliva dripping past his lower lip. "Why? S'not as if you're very gentle with me."

Micolash bends down to kiss him again, teeth tugging at his lips, before pulling away once more.

"Keep any of that up and you might rip that dress of yours, or stain it with your own cum."

He sucks in a breath at the vulgar words. Micolash rolls off of him and is already pushing up the skirt of his dress, the soft fabric bunching up above Laurence's stomach and revealing flashes of his chest. He knows that a dress like this one is meant to be supported by crinolines and petticoats and skirts upon skirts pushing under it, but like Micolash asked him to he doesn't wear anything under it, all to grant him easier access. That, and so that Micolash can run his hand over the thigh-high stockings and garters that dig ever-so-slightly into Laurence's skin.

"You're one of the lucky ones - not everyone can pull off stockings and garters." He hooks his finger underneath a strap and snaps at it, causing Laurence to let out a high little yelp of surprise.

There really isn't much the underwear has to cover up, considering they're low-cut and made of such thin material. Laurence's cock sticks out of them, straining and hot up against his stomach. Grinning, Micolash presses down a hand, creased palm cool and comforting along Laurence's skin. He doesn't grab hold of him to jerk him off or even stroke at him, just presses, watching the head of Laurence's cock peeking out above his fingers and leaking pre-cum.

"I said it before, but you look so good in blue. Too bad that most sluts like you aren't suited enough to wear clothes as fine as this."

"I guess I should be grateful," Laurence stammers out.

"You should." There's a moment of quiet - borderline comfort: Laurence's eyelids flickering open and shut, Micolash's hands a relief on Laurence's skin so warm with arousal. "I just can't decide which position I'd want you in. On all fours, crying out like a beast in heat while I fuck you? Of course, then I wouldn't be able to see your face like I could if I fucked you while you were lying on your back, barely able to breathe and wrapping your legs around me."

He deliberates, seemingly delighted by Laurence squirming and eager underneath him, his breath escaping him in sharp exhales. One hand gropes around in his pockets to fish out a bottle of lubricant, first undoing his pants and then slicking his cock and fingers in the substance. Then he gives Laurence a small, sly grin.

"I've got it. Tell me when you're about to cum, alright?"

Laurence nods weakly.

Micolash takes the time to slide down the underwear, lace itchy against Laurence's skin. He slips his fingers inside of Laurence, widening him open. His fingers jab around in his ass till he hits the soft edge of his prostate. Laurence freezes up, pleasure washing over him at the fleeting contact. The next moments are a blur: Micolash slamming himself inside and grappling around to grab hold of his wrists, Laurence wrapping his stocking-clad legs around him and rocking needily against him. 

"Ah-" he chokes out, "M-"

His choked moaning of Micolash's name dies in his throat when Micolash's cock bumps up roughly against his prostate, the pressure against that cluster of nerves making him go limp. Sweat makes the sleeves and front of his dress cling to his skin, the combined friction of Micolash pumping his cock in and out of him and his dress rubbing against his sweat-slicked skin unbearable. He moans, twisting his wrists a little and hissing at the feel of too-sharp nails digging into his skin. The lace trimming his underwear and stockings was already irritating, but now the way it's chafing at his skin from Micolash fucking into him is near unbearable.

"Mm, aren't you sweet," Micolash pants. "So vulnerable and dressed so prettily for me."

Laurence doesn't respond. He just whines loudly, throwing his head back against the mattress and thrusting back against Micolash's slick cock. His breath comes out in pants, blonde hair matted in sweat. Heat, blissful heat, soaks through him as Micolash slams into him. He must look like quite a sight, legs pulled apart and once pristine dress now wrinkled and dirtied with his sweat. He flexes back against Micolash's hands gripping him by the wrist. Pre-cum drips against his stomach, hot and damp.

"Enjoying yourself?" He bends down when he says this to Laurence.

"Micolash," he whimpers, thrusting back against him blissfully, "Micolash, please- _please,_ I'm going to cum-"

Micolash pulls out of him roughly and flips him over. Laurence barely has any time to clamber to his hands and knees before Micolash begins fucking him again. His fingers cling to the blue dress he wears, the straps of his garters straining against his legs. He cries out in bliss, feeling his nails catch against the fabric - by now at least one person's heard them. While the walls of the room are certainly thick they're not sturdy enough to muffle the sound of Laurence's fervent moans filling the tiny room.

He feels Micolash cum first, seed sticky and thick as it spills into his ass. Laurence quivers underneath him for a moment, red-faced and spittle-stained tongue darting out of his mouth to taste sour sweat on his lips. Then, cock straining against his underwear, he climaxes too, cum dripping out and staining the once clean bedsheets.

Laurence turns over onto his back, dress pulled up to reveal his trembling, prone form. He's spent.

"I'm going to be sore," he breathes. "I'm going to have trouble walking tomorrow and I won't be able to get up for quite some time after how you've ruined me."

Micolash bends down to press a hand to his side, if Laurence didn't know any better he'd think the gesture was genuinely caring. Soon, he'll clean up and stumble back to his own room, but for now Micolash glances down at him with what can only be described as a shit-eating grin.

"All the better for you and everyone else to know your place."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> important: i will only be taking one request per person! partly bc i already have ideas for certain kinks (specifically: voyeurism, spanking, spit and anonymity), partly bc if more ppl want to choose a kink + laurence pairing for future prompts, i feel like it'd be more fair that way. kinks are all in the tags, and you can see the bingo board [here](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DxRtAr_X4AAVpo5.jpg)
> 
> ty for reading!! please comment if you enjoyed this one


	3. writing on skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> request for: mario_della_sapienze  
> pairings: laurence/ludwig  
> warnings: none - this is a fully consensual, fluffy smutty one yall :333

Laurence peels off his rain-stained jacket when he enters their dorm room. It's been a long night - he's quite tired from all those hours spent toiling cleaning up that failed experiment, but at least it didn't keep him up until morning. Hours spent scrubbing ash from the surface of the classroom and stacking the furniture that remained back in its place has cramped up his fingers. And if that wasn't enough, he noticed the boom of thunder about halfway through and had a gut feeling that it wouldn't let up before he had to return to his dorm for the night.

"You seem rather happy for someone who got caught in a rain storm on the way home," notes Ludwig.

"Oh, I'm not happy about that at all." He sighs, sitting on the bed and shrugging off the heavy black robe of his uniform. He's been soaked right down to the bone, the rainwater chilly on his skin. "I'm just happy I get to see you."

"Master Willem ask you to stay behind again?"

"Mm-hmm." His fingers slide down his wet shirt, nails pulling out knots to undo the laces. It's a calming sort of comfort, being tucked away in the safety of their dorm room from the raging storm not too far off. "And you know how that part of campus is so far away from the dorms. It started raining when I was still helping him clean up - I'm lucky he thinks I'm a good enough of a student so as not to get detention."

Ludwig turns away from his papers, staring at Laurence. He knows that there are curious eyes wandering over his slim body, staring at the dent of his navel and the sloped curves of his shoulders. "You're not going to go into the bathroom to change?"

"It's not like I'm naked. And you've seen me without a shirt plenty of times before - don't worry, I'm going to put something on, anyways." Laurence runs a hand through his wet hair - all tangled now, knots bunched up under his hands. He'll have to comb all those out, perhaps he can get Ludwig to help him like before (he's always liked when Ludwig brushes his hair, his grip gentle, comb softly working its way through the knots and snarls and smoothing them out). 

He watches Ludwig turn back to his papers, dark hair brushing sleekly against his broad shoulders. His knuckles curl around the quill, dark feather protruding from it swaying around a little. _Oh, Ludwig,_ he thinks to himself, _Blush and ask me to step aside all you want, but I know you're always the one taking the lead. It's pretty ironic, if you ask me._

An impish, naughty little voice in his brain suggests something to him. He decides to follow along.

Wet shirt now wrinkly and forgotten, Laurence makes his way from the bed over to to where Ludwig sits. Bare arms reach to circle around Ludwig's broad shoulders, feeling up against the warmth of his skin through fabric. Then he leans over to plant an indulgent but still very chaste kiss to Ludwig's forehead. He stays like that for a moment, head snuggled up in the crook of Ludwig's neck, small smile curving against his skin where Ludwig can't see but surely feel him-

With a trembling hand Ludwig accidentally knocks into his pot of ink and sends it spinning for a few moments, several drops of black splattering out to stain the page.

Ludwig makes a small noise of shock. Then he turns around - well, as much as he can with Laurence's arms still wrapped over him - and clears his throat.

 _"Laurence._ _"_

"What?" He grows genuinely concerned for a moment. "Am I bothering you? Do you want me to stop?"

"No, but..."

He leaves another kiss on Ludwig's face. "Then what's the matter? Aside from you accidentally almost knocking over that pot of ink, of course. I can get you some more paper if you haven't got any more."

Ludwig flushes. "You know, Laurence, if it's my undivided attention that you want, you can just ask for it."

"No, you've got work to do. I should probably just take a bath and - oh dear, you got some ink on your fingers!"

Indeed, he has: Just a few droplets staining the back of his hand and dotting his knuckles, though. Hardly the un-washable stain that the almost genuine disappointment in Laurence's voice makes it out to be. With quick, gentle movements he reaches over and lifts up Ludwig's hand examining the stains. His face twists into an expression of false pensiveness, examining the offending blotches of black with an intensity just as fabricated.

"Aren't you going to do anything about that?"

Ludwig reaches for another piece of paper. "Rinse it off with water, maybe."

"Well, yes, but you're already so hard at work. Don't you think that might take up too much time?" He lets his kisses creep down Ludwig's neck, lips hovering mere centimeters away from the back of his hand. "I could lick them off for you."

"Isn't that a little unsanitary, Laurence?"

"It's not as if your hands are covered in grime and dirt. I've wiped ink off my own hands with spit before."

"That's not what I meant, and I'm certain you know it."

He purses his lips, playful. "What are you talking about?"

"Come on. Saliva on the skin is unsanitary."

"You kiss me all the time."

"That's different. Besides..." He reaches up his free hand to grip at Laurence's, the pad of his thumb stroking gently over the flat of his hand. "I have a different idea of what you could do to help."

Laurence quirks an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"If you 'accidentally' got me worked up enough to spill ink - and let's face it, that was no accident - it's only fair that I get to purposely get ink all over you."

He unfastens his arms from around Ludwig, still keeping his hands placed firmly on his shoulders. "Oh?"

"I mean, if that's something you want. You could always just get me a washcloth to scrub off the stain."

Laurence sighs. "I don't think I will."

"Then why don't you get on my lap so I can show you just how much you ought to regret spilling ink all over my hand?"

He pouts, legs squeezing close together in anticipation. "I mean, it wasn't _all_ over your hand. Just a few drops."

"Technicalities aren't the important part of this situation, Laurence. On my lap. Unless you're really that willing to-"

"Fine, fine, I wasn't even objecting." 

Laurence settles on Ludwig's lap, positioning himself very deliberately over groin. He can feel the friction of Ludwig's cock, half-hard through the rough fabric of his pants and pressing up against him. For a moment he is the one with all the power, leaning over Ludwig who has one hand on the desk and the other resting at his side. It delights him, this brief taste of things to come. He gyrates his hips just a little, taking care to brush up against the growing hardness. Ludwig says nothing, though his face twists a little in what is clearly pleasure.

"Aren't you mischievous," Ludwig whispers. His hand reaches up to tuck back stray blonde hair. Laurence closes his eyes and leans into the touch - it sends a thrill of warmth settling somewhere in the pit of his stomach. He wants this, wants it more than anything right now. Byrgenwerth may not be empty, the rain may pour outside, but for a moment it feels like there is not another soul in the world aside from the two of them.

He draws Laurence into a kiss sweetly: It starts with him thumbing hair away from his face with soft, fluid movements, then cradling his cheeks and pulling him closer. The movements are slow but not agonizingly slow - he knows Ludwig waits for the moment where Laurence pulls away and says he doesn't want anymore, like he always waits for. That moment never comes. Instead, Laurence angles his head and lets Ludwig press his lips to his. He's tender but intense, wet tongue gently slipping past Laurence's lips and working its way through the soft cavern of Laurence's mouth. He tastes bittersweet and faintly floral, a bit like the tea he'd been drinking not too long ago. Laurence doesn't want his hands to dangle uselessly by his sides, so he reaches down to press them against Ludwig's sides, content but expectant of the doling out of what's to come.

Ludwig removes one hand away from his face, stroking down his side before giving his ass a slight squeeze. Laurence digs himself closer into Ludwig, a soft little noise of pleasure leaking into their kissing. There's a rustling of papers from just a few inches behind him, of clumsy fingernails clicking against the warped wood of the desk. From just behind him, Laurence hears the soft dripping of ink into the pot, of metal tapping just against the rim as if trying to shake off droplets of excess. He braces himself, that warmth in the pit of his stomach growing stronger. He's not so much nervous so much as he is glad to relinquish that mischievousness from earlier. Ludwig pulls away from Laurence, tongue tracing over the edge of his lower lip as though he's trying to cling onto the taste of his mouth for just a moment longer. Then:

"Wait."

He brings the quill forward, staring at its black-tipped edge. The sound of Laurence breathing - delighted, sharply eager - fills the tiny little dorm room. He feels Laurence's hip press eagerly into the hand not holding the quill, and grips him a little tighter. Hardly enough to bruise, but enough to keep him still. Then he takes the quill and traces the first mark just under Laurence's collarbone. It's light and buzzy across his skin, the action making his breath hitch in his throat.

"That tickles," he manages.

Ludwig stares back at him, placid. "Serves you right for spilling my ink."

He drags the tip of the quill across Laurence's collarbone, watching a black line form in its wake. Again, the buzzy sensation sweeps over Laurence and he grows weak. "Ludwig-"

"Wonder what I ought to draw on you..." He pauses to dip his quill ink ink again, the feathered end a flash in Laurence's eyes. Then down the quill goes on his skin again, still just at the edges of where his collarbones protrude underneath a layer of pale skin. The dulled tip of the quill dances over Laurence's skin again, carrying out meaningless swirls and strikes and staining the surface. Laurence's breathing grows fast, and he bites down any other noises that threaten to spill out of his mouth. His legs squeeze around Ludwig, shifting a little so he doesn't grow numb from the position he's seated in.

"I don't think drawing on you's enough." Ludwig's voice is deep. and comforting. "I think in exchange for something like you did, there needs to be a little more..."

"What-" Laurence cuts himself off when Ludwig circles the tip round one of his nipples, ink dripping over the sensitive bud of skin "-What do you suggest?"

"Writing on you. Writing little reminders about all the ways you drive me absolutely mad."

Ludwig presses the very tip of the quill to the hollow of his chest. A stray droplet of ink slides from that one spot down Laurence's chest and down his torso. Then he begins to write - Laurence can't see what he's writing, but the sensation is unbearably light as it streaks patterns in black over his chest, light-edged on his skin and leaving him weak. He comes close to grinding back against Ludwig's lap, desperate for some form of relief from the agonizingly faint way the quill darts over him.

"Beautiful," Ludwig whispers.

He flushes a little. "Thank you."

"That's what I wrote. You're too beautiful for your own good - I'm absolutely awestruck by you. Awestruck, I tell you."

Laurence trembles a little. The worst part of it all is that his legs are spread far apart so he can balance himself on Ludwig's lap. Which means that Ludwig knows for sure how hard he is, how his cock's straining against his pants and aching to be touched. Then the quill comes down again and he squeezes his eyes shut as Ludwig writes on him again, achingly light on his flesh - and before he can stop himself, a moan wrenches itself past his lips.

"Funny. Because it's not fair how much your antics are able to amuse me and bring me to laughter."

Laurence moans again, low and smooth in his throat, when Ludwig dips down to write on his stomach. He opens his eyes once more. Sweat form as a thin layer of moisture on his skin, most likely smudging the ink still tingling on him.

"Charming, because you've got me wrapped around your little finger with how wonderful you are."

It goes on like this for some time. Ludwig writes on his skin that he is honest, and it drives him mad because he'd never expect someone to be so straightforward about how much they love him. Kind, because it simply shouldn't be possible that someone like Laurence is as delightfully sweet as he is and that he deserves him. Intelligent, because that's how his wiliness got him here in the first place. Loving, lively, tender, understanding, graceful - the quill swirls over his skin, patterning Laurence in dripping ink till he's got a mess of half-smudged words in black covering him and set on his skin, hardness very evident in his pants as he struggles to push back against Ludwig in getting some sort of contact that isn't the form of praise written on him.

"I've prolonged this long enough, haven't I?" Ludwig sets the quill down. "Do you need me to go any further? To touch you?"

"I- yes, Ludwig, _please_."

"Alright, then. Give me a moment to put this back, then I'll touch you all you like."

He takes his time, gently pulling down the slightly damp waistband of Laurence's trousers and then his undergarments. There's already pre-cum slick and shiny on the head of his cock, pressing against Ludwig's still clothed stomach. He dips his hand upwards, cupping the length of it just in his palm. Laurence's heavy breathing intensifies at the feeling of gentle, ink-stained fingers touching him and streaking him in black. Ludwig remains soft, running his fingers underneath the length of Laurence's cock and dragging gently over the veins there.

"I can stop. I can stop if you want me to."

"Don't." The word comes out pleading.

"Of course, then. I won't stop."

Again, Ludwig is gentle, tilting his hand upwards and rubbing at the head of Laurence's cock. His thumb lingers for a little too long, teasing at the thin slit there and leaving more ink in its wake. Laurence squeezes his legs around Ludwig again, reaching up one hand clammy and damp with sweat to pull Ludwig closer. He presses even closer to him, soft pleasure washing over him and dulling his surroundings. It's paradoxically enthralling yet soothing, rippling over him gently like warm water he's dove into. Again he kisses him, craving that familiar taste on his lips and his tongue. He's eager and insistent, wanting to feel both Ludwig's mouth and hand on him and nothing more than that.

Ludwig strokes at him, sending a shudder through him. He pulls his head away so that Laurence ends up leaving a wet kiss on his cheek.

"Ludwig," he gasps out, "I need more-"

"You'll get more. Wait a little while longer."

Then comes the lines of Ludwig's palms, all the faint marks and indents prominent on Laurence's cock stained with ink. He feels fingers smeary with pre-cum wrapping around him, curling over his skin and the veins just beneath and resting there. Ludwig's grip around his cock is soft, not squeezing. Then he begins to move his hand again, tugging and stroking at Laurence again and again, back and forth, back and forth. Any coherent words die in his throat and he practically melts at Ludwig's touch, feeling the clenching in his muscles vanish and his limbs turn to jelly. His breath comes out in hot, quick pants and he brings Ludwig's face to his again to kiss him. He wishes he could stay here, so close in Ludwig's arms yet so far because his feelings take him someone else. His stomach rises and falls with every breath he takes, if he weren't kissing Ludwig right now as though he were parched for it his name would be hot and quick on his lips.

"Mm-" he gulps into Ludwig's mouth, opening his own a little more so that he can feel a tongue slip over the smooth surface of skin.

With a final, sharp noise he cums into Ludwig's palm, anything louder muffled by the pair of lips closed over his. He stays there for a moment, shaking as that wave of warmth crests over him and he slumps away from Ludwig, his back resting against the edge of the desk. The ink's itchy and dripping on his skin, tiny webs of it patterning his cock and smudged by the sweat on his chest and stomach. He can't glance at all the sweet words Ludwig wrote on him, nor can he remember them all. But they were wonderful words, and that was enough.

There's quiet for a blissful, blissful moment. Then Laurence ruins it by opening his mouth.

"Whether or not I needed a shower before, I need one now," he blurts out.

They're quiet again - stiff, a tad awkward. Then Ludwig bursts out laughing.

"By the Gods, Laurence, I think we _both_ need to take a bath. I think you might've gotten all that ink on me-" he gestures to his chest, grinning widely "-and besides, you getting all hot and bothered got me all sweaty."

Laurence exhales in relief. "Then, perhaps if me having to sit through you writing on me wasn't enough, maybe we could, ah... continue in the privacy of the bathroom."

"A tempting offer, but I'm rather tired at the moment. And you probably are, too."

"Oh, I understand and respect if you don't want it, but me? Tired? I-" He cuts himself off with a loud yawn. "A bath and to sleep it is, then. Tomorrow?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe." He savors the word.

As Ludwig lifts him off his lap and helps him into the bathroom to scrub off the now smudged and smeary words of praise left on his skin, Laurence finds that this is one of the times in his life when he's felt the most safe and content, and thinks that there is no other place that he'd rather be - and no other person he'd rather be with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok this one turned out fluffier and longer than i thought it would? which im ok with, laurence needs a break lmao
> 
> writing the banter for this request was so!! fun!!! i loved writing how laurence started out as a little shit and then ludwig was the one who got him all worked up but he's also still v gentle and nice and willing to take care of laurence even after he wrote all that stuff on him, how nice!!! uwuwuwu
> 
> im not very familiar w/ the whole writing on skin kink so... i just kinda rolled with it and made shit up as i went along?? still hope you like this one tho!


	4. bruises/bitemarks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pairing(s): brador/laurence  
> warnings: blood, rough sex, potentially dubious consent, brador's kind of possessive, laurence is a masochistic slut. also no lube.

Brador is straightforward about what he wants.

No pampering Laurence with gentle kisses, no whispering sweet words into his ear or entertaining him with a false pretense of gentleness. He slams Laurence onto the altar, no doubt leaving a bruise to form against his back. He's already wrenching off his clothes, seemingly amused at the sound of Laurence's labored breathing. He winces at the feel of cold, rough stone at his back, skin pulsing - a telltale sign of bruising to come.

"You can pass yourself around as much as you like, but remember who you _really_ belong to," Brador leans down to rasp against his ear. Laurence tenses at the hot breath hitting his skin, his arousal spiking. _Shit,_ he thinks with a whimper as he feels himself getting hard. 

He decides to play a little game - "And who might I belong t-"

He cuts himself off with a sharp cry as Brador bends down and bites at his neck. Laurence stiffens at the pain, feeling teeth and tongue wet with saliva dragging over the marked skin trapped in Brador's mouth. He's like an animal, growling and hissing and filled with the desire of nothing more than to claim his prey.

"Brador-" he chokes out, "I-"

He trails off into ragged panting when he feels Brador nudging his tongue against the now sensitive spot of skin. It _hurts_. Brador bites deep enough, coming close to drawing blood - Gods, he thinks he actually might have, there's something _wet_ smeared against the skin of his neck that he doesn't think is spit. It's painful, that first bite. And Laurence loves it.

" _Me_ ," Brador hisses into Laurence's skin. "You belong to me. No one but me. You're mine to fuck, mine to keep, mine to use."

"I-"

"Tell me. You know who you belong to now."

"I'm yours," Laurence whimpers softly through the overwhelming overlap of pain and pleasure. "I'm yours, Brador."

He teases his tongue along the broken skin again, leaving a trail of saliva in its wake. "Good."

Brador, Laurence reflects when dry fingers clamp down on his cock, is the assured type. He's not as gentle as Ludwig or as sneaky as Micolash or as mocking as Damien. Brador has brutality. It's in the way Laurence can hear fabric tear when Brador undresses him, jamming fingers in his mouth for him to clamp his lips down on, tongue pressing against prominent knuckles and hard-edged nails. He really likes it when Laurence screams - whether it's in pain or pleasure he can never tell. Not that he thinks Brador cares anyway. He's just got Laurence turned over on his stomach against the altar, nails scrabbling against the cold stone for some semblance of support.

He can't see much in the darkness of the church, but he hears Brador spitting into his hand. His eyes go wide and something flares up in him, half fear and half anticipation. Laurence's voice trembles when he speaks. "Is that all you're going to..."

"I know you get off to letting me hurt you," Brador says sharply.

 _He's right._ "I..."

"You do. Don't you?"

He's more than a little humiliated, but he answers with a quiet, "Yes."

"If I get to fuck you, then I get to hurt you, too. Don't you remember the last time? I cut you up a little bit, watched blood flow from your pretty skin. You cried a lot, Laurence, but you were still pleading for more. "

"Then-" His cock twitches between his stomach and the stone of the altar beneath him. "-Then please fuck me. Use me, hurt me, remind me I'm yours."

Brador fucks him quickly. He's animalistic, fingers digging claw-like into Laurence's hips and laughing low and throaty when it makes him cry out. The bite marks left on his neck throb. He doesn't bother even trying to thrust back against Brador's swollen erection - he's here to submit. He's here completely and utterly at Brador's mercy, here to be fucked senseless on the altar.

"Wouldn't it be something if someone found you like this?"

Laurence whimpers in response - whether he makes noise from pain or pleasure he can't tell.

"Just imagine, someone stumbling into this part of the church and watching me fuck you right on the altar. Certainly wouldn't be very good for you - you look absolutely pathetic."

Saliva dribbles down Laurence's lip and chin, disheveled blonde hair sticky with sweat and clinging to his skin. He's desperate, afraid to shift his position for fear of scraping his bare skin on the cold slab of stone beneath him. Brador's pace is brutal, cock rough and slick against Laurence's insides - there's a sting that he feels, bleeding, but he likes what the pain brings. Besides, it's not as if he can't just use the Old Blood to heal the wounds Brador gave him.

That's when Brador dives down and delivers another harsh bite to his neck. This is only the first of several, Laurence realizes when he cries out. It happens again. He knows that Brador is straightforward about what he wants, and for now he wants nothing more than for Laurence to submit. He draws blood and sweat fucking him, probably grinning as he watches him struggle to catch his balance atop the altar, trembling and whining. So to remind Laurence of who he belongs to, he takes big bruisy, bleeding mouthfuls of him, teeth clamping down tight on skin and tongue licking up split skin and blood. 

"Brador-" he chokes out, shuddering at the feel of a tongue laving his skin slick with fresh trickling red.

"Doesn't it hurt? My biting you and marking you up while I fuck you?"

He can only manage a desperate, pained little sob.

"It must hurt. Look at how much you're crying."

He hyperventilates through tears, every stretch of his neck bringing fresh pain to the bite marks littering his skin. He wants more-

"I'm the only one allowed to make you hurt like this," Brador whispers, licking up droplets of blood. 

Laurence rocks back and forth on his cock, clutching the edge of the altar. It feels _good_ , the throbbing of bitten, broken skin that he knows Brador has claimed for himself. Brador ensures that as much of Laurence as possible is marked as his, from the rough fingers yanking up and down on his cock to the strained pulling of his hair to reaching under Laurence's chest to give one of his nipples a harsh squeeze. He's left moaning and crying, legs trembling underneath him for every bite and bruise left on him, every time Brador pushes in and out.

Brador leaves one more harsh mark on him when he cums, yanking hold of Laurence to keep him held in place as he empties himself inside of him. Painfully hard, Laurence feels his own cum spray against the cold, stone surface of the altar. He tries to cling onto the brief, intense pleasure for as long as he can, bloodied bite marks and tears making his skin sting.

"You make such sweet noises when you cry and scream like that." Brador's gathered him in his arms now, pulling out and nuzzling at him - he's not fooled by the false display of tenderness, though. He knows that Brador is the predator and he the prey, only acting as gentle as he is right now because his lust's satiated and he had Laurence to use to satiate it.

"Would you want for me to stay a little longer, or...?"

"No more."

He's raw and bleeding, but he's got the Old Blood to heal him. So he does, he uses it so that the blood dripping from between his legs ceases flowing. He doesn't use it on the patchy bruises or bitemarks littering his skin, though. Those he keeps. He knows Brador likes looking at those as a reminder so he can think to himself, _You are mine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okkkk brador just gives me. major sadist vibes ghfhfghfgh
> 
> also I LIVE. i have been dealing w/ some irl shit and. needed a longer break. updates will be hella slower from now on, just warning yall.


	5. mirrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pairing(s): laurence/ludwig  
> warnings: n/a these are the soft and tender early healing church days yall

"Remind me again why you need me to help you shave?"

Laurence steps into the bedroom, a small straw basket clutched in his arms. The contents are few: Just a razor, a small jar of shaving cream, a towel and a little pot of warm water from the basin. Though he asked the question, there's no hint of annoyance in his tone. In fact, considering just how much the business of running the Healing Church takes Laurence has come to adore these little pockets of intimacy that he and Ludwig share.

Ludwig sits on a chair, just next to the large mirror on the wall behind his bed. Laurence actually doesn't mind the stubble - in fact, he does think Ludwig's one of the few people who actually looks decent with it - but he and Ludwig both agree that he looks better without it.

"I've got clumsy hands," Ludwig says.

"Oh come on. You're able to fight off beasts with a gigantic sword every single night as a hunter, what makes you think your hands aren't steady?"

"That's the problem. I've gotten so used to wielding a sword to slicing things up that every time I try to shave I end up slicing _myself_ up by accident."

Laurence winces. Nicks from shaving aren't usually something most notice immediately until there's a rush of water against the tiny portion of split skin. And those portions of split skin _hurt_. But the wince vanishes from his face and is replaced with a very genuine smile. Again, he's perfectly happy to spend a small moment with Ludwig. 

"Mm, I suppose that hunting creatures of the night that terrorize Yharnam will do that to a person. At least you've got the body for it, though."

Ludwig stares down at his arms - prominent biceps, broad shoulders, very different from Laurence's much more slim and lean form. "It looks that way. I've also got the body for plenty of other activities involving you, too."

"Ludwig!" He feigns shock. "I didn't think that something as scandalous as that would come out of _your_ mouth."

"Bold words coming from you."

Laurence seats himself on Ludwig's lap. He dips his fingers in the pot of water and splashes it against Ludwig's face, stubble prickling beneath his fingers. "There wasn't a spare chair in here for me to sit in front of you, so this will have to do."

"You could always just pause and get another chair. I'd be perfectly willing to wait."

"True. But you do _like_ me sitting on your lap, don't you?"

He can feel Ludwig's skin grow flushed beneath his fingers, watches his cheeks tinge with pink. "Yes."

"And would you be okay with me sitting on your lap now?"

"Yes."

"There you have it. You don't want me to get up, I don't want to get up either, I'll stay on your lap and shave you."

He unscrews the lid to the little pot of shaving cream, coating his fingers in the foamy, pale substance. It rubs off damp and translucent on Ludwig's face, mingling with the traces of water that were splashed against his skin. He rubs it over his cheeks and carefully smears it over his chin, dabbing traces of white upon Ludwig's cupid's bow. He likes Ludwig's face - not just looking at it, but feeling it under his fingers. He likes the feeling of skin stretched taut between firmly-placed muscle and bone. Likes gliding the tips of his fingers around that strong-set nose but never actually touching it.

"And here's where we get to the part you've been waiting for." Laurence fishes out the razor, taking it carefully between his fingers. He's experienced accidentally letting it slip out of his grasp and slicing through his skin - he's dealt with worse wounds but it certainly hurts like a bitch. "Hold still for me, please."

"This isn't a blunt razor you've got, is it?"

"Why would I inflict _that_ kind of torture on you? Everyone knows it's bad to shave with a dull razor, it's hard to get hair off cleanly and causes nicks. Don't worry, I got a fresh one. Cleaned it up just in case, too."

He balances the razor in his grasp. Ludwig scrunches his eyes shut and tilts his head so that Laurence has better access to his face. It's a slow process, with him trailing the thin, sharp edge of the razor down Ludwig's face, digging it lightly beneath the thin layer of shaving cream so that it gives way to smooth, clean if not slightly wet skin. He makes sure to be careful, keeping his breathing steady lest his hand slip and Ludwig ends up with a small cut on his face. With the hand not gripping the razor he strokes at the clean, now hair-free spot on Ludwig's cheek: He knows Ludwig likes the tingling sensation he feels after the metal's left his skin.

"You've been awfully quiet. Move your head a little, won't you?"

Ludwig tilts his head. "Well, I don't want you to accidentally mess up if I talk."

"Fair."

He dabs at Ludwig's face with the towel once he's done, wiping away the excess shaving cream and water that still clings to his skin. Throughout the process Ludwig remains nearly stony-faced, only tilting his head when Laurence requests him to. Laurence is well aware that most of the people he knows wouldn't consider something like shaving your lover to be a particularly romantic moment, but he supposes he's just sort of odd that way, because he does.

There's also the matter of Ludwig's cock having pressed between Laurence's leg for most of the time he's spent seated on his lap shaving him. Not that Laurence has brought it up - he's well aware of this fact. Is it because he doesn't want to slip up and cut Ludwig's face if he accidentally shocks him? Or is it because he simply wants to prolong the arousal Ludwig's probably feeling. Laurence isn't really sure, and he doesn't really care.

"Say, I've just come to notice something," Laurence says, dabbing at Ludwig's face with his towel.

"You have?"

"I have. Namely..." Here, Laurence nudges up between Ludwig's legs "...This."

Ludwig lets out a small grunt in response. "How long have you noticed 'that'?"

"Since, oh, I don't know, since I first sat on your lap and started shaving you, perhaps."

Pensive, tense silence. Then:

"Laurence, you little _sneak_."

"Oh, come on, Ludwig! You know if I'd brought it up while I was shaving you you would've almost jumped out of your seat in shock." He pauses to laugh a little at Ludwig's expression, a combination of pained arousal as well as intense humiliation. He _loves_ it, relishes in the fact that he and he alone can make Ludwig feel the way he feels now. "You should see the look on your face - it's _priceless_! Maybe I should bring you in front of that mirror that sits behind your bed so you can properly see i-"

This is when Ludwig decides to give Laurence a firm smack on the ass. He yelps, towel dropping out of his hands and fingernails digging sharply into Ludwig's shoulders. Distinctly aware of his _own_ growing arousal, Laurence grows quiet. He's always been willing and eager to stoke whatever flames he can when it comes to Ludwig, though he certainly likes when Ludwig's sweet and tender with him there are always those times when he craves for that more harsh side of him to show itself, too.

"You're such a little sneak, prolonging my suffering the way you did. It's a good thing that I like you too much to be completely mad at you."

Laurence bites his lip coyly. "You do?"

"Key word here is _completely._ You're still going to have to pay consequences for that trick you just pulled on me, you know."

"What trick?"

"Here we go, again, Laurence - haven't you learned _anything_? You know I can't stand it when you play dumb with me."

"Who said anything about playing dumb?"

"There you go again, doing it right now. It looks as if you're going to have to be disciplined for that little stunt of yours."

He shifts on Ludwig's lap, circling his legs around his hips. His feet touch the back of the chair.

"What sort of discipline might you be implying I face, Ludwig?"

"You mentioned that I should see the look on my face. I think," Ludwig strokes at his cheek, "That you ought to see yours."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know. See your face contort the way it does every time I get around to fucking you."

Laurence gulps in anticipation. Feigning nervousness, he gets out, "Ludwig, I didn't think you had it in you to say something so vulgar!"

"At least I don't pretend to be innocent about it. Besides, I like seeing your face whenever you get hot and bothered. It's such a pity that you aren't able to see it, too - thankfully we've got this mirror here to make sure that's about to change."

He pulls Laurence close and seals his lips over his. Filled with anticipation, Laurence lets their tongues collide. Ludwig's methodic and rough, wet tongue thorough in his caressing the soft walls of Laurence's mouth and teeth gently nipping at Laurence's lower lip. He closes his eyes and presses close, feeling his cock trapped beneath the cloth of his pants and pressing hard against Ludwig's stomach. He knows Ludwig's the one prolonging everything this time. Ludwig is in control, and most importantly, Laurence wants him to be. He tilts his head and doesn't bother in muffling the soft little noises of pleasure-mixed-with-pain when Ludwig tugs at his soft blonde hair too hard, legs shaking from where he's spread apart against Ludwig's lap.

He thrusts against Ludwig's crotch when he pulls away, whining softly. "Ludwig, please, kiss me again-"

"Not now. I want you to get a good and proper look at yourself, Laurence."

He lifts Laurence off his lap and picks him up, settling him down on the bed in front of the mirror. Laurence kneels down, the soft surface of the mattress hitting his knees. He stares at the crumpled sheets for a moment before Ludwig returns, bottle of lubrication laid to rest upon the bed, and takes hold of his jaw lightly with just a few fingers to get him to look at his reflection.

His lips are pink, swollen and shiny with saliva. Laurence's mouth hangs open, tongue pressing limply against his bottom row of teeth. His eyes are hazy, pale face flushed and sweat glistening faintly on his skin and making his shirt cling to his torso. Ludwig's fingers creepy softly along his face, raking through his now mussed-up blonde hair.

"Now you see? Now you see how you look?"

Laurence swallows. "I look like a harlot."

"You use that term with far too much disdain - if, in fact, you do look like a harlot, you're the most beautiful harlot I've ever seen in my life." His free hand trails down the sharp line of Ludwig's hip, then down his leg. When he speaks, his voice is hot and low against Laurence's ear. "Would you like for me to fuck you? To see me bury myself deep inside you and watch your face twitch about in lust?"

"I- Yes, yes I would," Laurence breathes. He shifts to press up against Ludwig's hand, lean into his touch - shockingly gentle compared to the aggression displayed earlier. This is just the prelude, he knows, a taste of what is to come.

Arms circle his waist and draw him close. "Good. You're alright with me using my mouth on you - marking you up for me, right?"

"Of course I - ah!"

Laurence watches his face scrunch up as Ludwig dives down, fingers tugging the collar of his shirt and rustling his hair away from his neck, before clamping his lips around an area of skin on his neck. He leans down into Ludwig's touches, teeth clenched and eyes squinting. A little humiliated but still thrilled, Laurence presses his hands up to cover his mouth, heat tingling against his fingers. He feels like his insides are turning to jelly thanks to Ludwig's handiwork. Between heavy kisses and bites to the pale, slim column of Laurence's neck, Ludwig whispers softly to him.

"What lovely skin you've got, Laurence. Such a shame that I've got to be the one to ruin it by marking it all up with my teeth." He pulls away and touches his fingers up to one blotchy hickey left on Laurence's neck. He tilts his head just a little to try and see it, observing the faint teethmarks embedded in his skin and the blotchy spot of red-purple staining his skin. Other marks in varying sizes follow down the path of Laurence's neck.

Laurence watches his open mouth, the rise and fall of his chest in tandem with the pace of his heavy breathing. 

"That didn't hurt too much, did it?"

"It did. But you know I like it when you make me hurt."

"Not too much, though. I'm only out here to teach you a lesson, not permanently injure you."

"I know you never would. And I can co-" he lets out a gasp when Ludwig's hand makes its way between his legs, cupping at his prick "-I can cover up the hickeys you left all over my neck. My clothes are already high-necked enough."

"Why not? Are you sure you wouldn't want everyone to see those marks of mine on your neck? The ones that display you as belonging to me?"

"I'll know already. I know that now. I know that because you've got me on my knees in front of your own mirror ready to be fucked."

Ludwig squeezes at him gently. Warmth travels through Laurence and he leans into Ludwig's fingers. His knees are weak, he can barely kneel with the way he's being handled now. It's even worse with how slow and deliberate Ludwig is in getting him undressed. He's slow at tugging and undoing the laces of Laurence's shirt, pulling the fabric down to reveal the outlines of his collarbone and chest - which isn't even fully removed, he thinks Ludwig's probably just as impatient as he is.. His hair's starting to come undone from its tie, face distorted with need. "L-Ludwig, please-"

"I think we both know what you need, don't we?" His hand glides over the curve of Laurence's ass. "You need me inside of you, and to see just how truly wonderful you look."

"Yes, that's what I need." His eyes go wide as Ludwig continues to undress him, the hand not pulling his trousers and undergarments down groping around at his cock. "Oh _Gods_ , Ludwig."

He has to balance his palms on the surface of the bed. Blonde bangs slide free from the now disheveled ponytail he'd once worn and flop into his eyes. Ludwig curls the first finger around inside of Laurence, feeling his walls slowly widen. His eyes go wide and he bites down on his lip again, stunned by the expression he wears - both lascivious and disbelieving. Ludwig's merciless in this approach, sliding two more fingers and twisting them in and out of Laurence's ass. He grows weak again, slumping over and struggling to keep staring at his own face in the mirror. His mouth remains open and gasping, gray eyes glazed over. He looks like a mess, hair undone and lips swollen and marks patterning his skin.

"Well?"

Once he discards his own trousers and undergarments Ludwig pushes his way inside, the girth of his cock stretching Laurence open. He presses back into Ludwig for support, hands reaching down to rest at the arms wrapped around his waist. His legs buckle underneath him. And then Laurence catches sight of his face: Smoothed out in an expression of bliss, the faintest trace of a smile adorning his mouth. His eyes are half-closed feeling Ludwig inside of him, hot and so, so large.

"How'd you like to touch yourself?" Ludwig thrusts forward sharply, nudging against Laurence's prostate.

Losing himself to bliss, he melts. With slow moments, he brings his hand down to his cock and begins to stroke. His fingers come away sticky with thin pre-cum, feeling the veins pressing their way against skin and the smooth, slick head of his prick.

"You should see the look on your face," Ludwig whispers to him. "Lovely, isn't it? Lovely because you're getting off to me biting you and punishing you for being a tease?"

He flinches with pleasure. "Yes."

Laurence's features twist up when Ludwig begins to move again. He strokes at his cock, moans soft and ragged and vibrating in his throat. He's more than a little humiliated, so exposed to himself - a beautiful harlot, like Ludwig claimed he was, but a harlot nonetheless. Yet, he feels unimaginably safe being held so close. Ludwig fucks him slowly, cock scraping around at his insides, and then uses his fingers to tilt Laurence's face forward so he can get a better look at himself. The elation he gets out of this is written plainly upon his features, mouth stretched open in a blank smile and half-closed eyes hazy with content.

"Ludwig, it feels good. Don't stop."

"Look at how eager you are - listen to yourself. Look at yourself. Those are your lips moving, your voice saying those words. You want me, don't you?"

"Yes," Laurence chokes out through an involuntary whimper. His pushing back against Ludwig for more is messy and fast. "I want you."

He grips the sheets so hard his knuckles go white. Ludwig's movements grow rough, rutting into Laurence and pressing up against his prostate again and again. Laurence can't respond to this with much else other than distorted, soft moans of pleasure which seem deafened by the sound of Ludwig exhaling loudly against his ears. He watches as a thin line of drool trickles out of his mouth and down his chin, saliva condensing along his tongue. He shakes with every movement from Ludwig, the noises of his soft cries filling the small room.

His climax comes quick and soft. White spots dance in front of his eyes as he watches his cum drip out of his cock and down his skin, hot and wet and unfamiliar. Then comes Ludwig, pulling Laurence close as he buries himself deep inside him and spills. Laurence slumps forward at the feeling of thick, viscous cum that coats his entrance, closing his mouth and wiping the drool off his chin. Behind him, Ludwig slowly pulls out, threads of cum sticky on his cock, and reclines onto the bed.

"I looked ridiculous," Laurence manages.

"Ridiculously good. Truth be told, anyone else making the same faces as you did would have looked beyond silly. But you didn't."

Falling onto the bed so that he can lie next to Ludwig, Laurence sighs. "That was wonderful. I do pity you, though."

"What makes you say that?"

"You spent all this time focused on trying to get me to make all kinds of faces while you fucked me silly in front of the mirror that you never got a proper look at yourself. And you can't do it now, either - surely you're probably tired from this business, too tired to lift your head up and look now that you're all shaved."

"Maybe, maybe not. But I'd always be willing to have a witness tell me what I look like."

Smiling a little, Laurence wriggles closer and delivers Ludwig a kiss on the cheek.

"You look perfect. Like you always have, and always will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> local vicar makes ahegao faces in front of mirror more at 7
> 
> also i had the windows start up theme stuck in my head while writing this what the FUCK
> 
> ayyy uh. ive just got a lot of shit to deal w/ in real life in regards to mental health and work and while i was able to speedwrite some stuff for the cthulhu mythos i was having trouble cranking out stuff for this kink bingo. dw i will return to fucked up stuff later, for now have this fluffier piece.


	6. sex toys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pairing(s): micolash/laurence.  
> warning(s): kiiiinda dubious consent???

The past few hours since this morning have been complete and utter agony.

Laurence remembers there he was, lying there on his side gasping and panting for breath, his ass stretched open and fingers sinking into the pillow's soft cushioning. Micolash was methodic in his aftercare - not sweet or soothing, but helping Laurence clean up and flick hair damp with sweat away from his face, dragging the washcloth down his cum-stained thighs. Then came the toy: Laurence had actually cringed and felt a new wave arousal wash over him seeing it. It shook in Micolash's hands, the product of a phantasm being stuffed inside of the object made of wood. He'd reassured Laurence, "It's very stimulating."

Then he proceeded to stuff it inside of Laurence for him to carry around until he got desperate enough.

Laurence was indignant about it at first. He clamped his bare legs together at the feeling of the toy vibrating inside him, sending little ripples of pleasure straight to his cock. When he spoke it was clear he was straining to keep his tone stable. "I'll be able to keep it inside me without drawing attention to myself. I'm not as weak as you think I am - for Kos' sake, I'm the first Vicar of the Healing Church!"

Micolash just shrugged. "Alright. Maybe you'll prove me wrong."

"I _will_ prove you wrong. We've done similar things back at Byrgenwerth - what makes this any different?"

"Like I said, maybe. Maybe you will."

Now... Laurence isn't so sure of himself.

Focusing is a chore, a struggle. He's desperately trying to listen to what Maria and Gehrman are saying, Micolash seated across from him - far, _far_ too much conflict between Mensis and the Healing Church these days. They're doing what they can to take care of it. And he's doing everything he can to make sure that the expression on his face looks normal. But his fingers are digging into the sides of his chair, thighs pressing down onto the hard wood. 

"Is something the matter, Vicar Laurence?"

Maria stares across at him with concern etched upon her face. Laurence stares for a moment, almost dazed. Micolash's expression is absolutely nonchalant. There's no devious grin or trickery in his glance, he just looks as mildly concerned and confused as the other occupants of the room do. It takes every ounce of willpower in Laurence for him to not cry out like a wounded animal.

"...What makes you think that?" His dry lips touch when he speaks. The toy stuffed inside of him vibrates maddeningly, thrashing inside of his coiled walls and just about making him melt. He's glad for the shield of the table, that way no one sees how he crosses his legs underneath to hide his stiffened cock. It presses needily between his legs, straining against the now-stained fabric of his pants - thank the Gods he's got the heavy white robes he wears to conceal it.

"You look very tense," says Maria. "And your face is _extremely_ flushed - do you have a fever?"

He traces his dry lips with his tongue nervously. 

"N-no, I don't have a fever, I'm fine. You're worrying far too much, Maria."

Gehrman grunts. "You don't look very fine to me, Laurence."

"I swear, it's nothing at all. I'm really sure you're overreacting."

"Very well..."

Gehrman sighs, clearing his throat.

"So what _are_ we going to do about this situation?"

"Well, I think perhaps a big part of it is just how the ideologies between Mensis and the Healing Church clash so - we at Mensis pride ourselves on the pursuit of new knowledge, the Healing Church prizes the Old Blood as the utmost important above all other treatments and medicine, an ultimate solution. Which isn't a bad thing, mind you. I have much respect for Laurence's work, he's always been a very intuitive man. I suppose a good way to change the current direction we're headed in would be to try and figure out a way to have these concepts co-exist with one another but I don't really have any good solutions - Laurence, do you have something you might want to contribute?"

He traces his thumb idly over a scratch on the table. Laurence stares at him blankly, struggling to process this information. It's difficult when all he can feel is the vibrator thrashing against his prostate repeatedly, making it sting with pleasure. He shifts a little in his seat, leaning over and lacing his fingers together.

"Well, I prop-!"

He claps his hands over his mouth when the vibrator nudges up against him at a new angle. Pre-cum drips out from the head of his cock, slick on his thighs and clothing clinging to his legs. Panting breath is trapped behind his hands and condenses on his skin. He's practically euphoric, paralyzed, what if the others found out? What then?

"Laurence?"

"Well, I propose that we - mm - try and organize some sort of-" Laurence slumps over. He begins to chew on his lip so hard he thinks he might actually draw blood. "Ugh, I lost my train of thought, I don't remember what I was trying to say."

"Ah. Hate it when that happens. Say, Laurence, you know... I don't really think you're feeling as alright as you look. Maybe you ought to head back to your room and rest for a bit."

 _And let Micolash triumph with this one? Of course not._ "Trust me, whatever I might be dealing with at the moment can't be that bad."

"Define what 'that bad' means to you," Gehrman snaps.

The vibrator throbs inside of him. "-Ah?"

"Laurence, you're red in the face and look stiff as a board. In the time we've attended this meeting you've tensed up more times than I can count! Not to mention those odd noises of pain you're letting out - if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were moaning in pleasure. It's clear that you're not well and in no state to attend let alone lead this meeting. Laurence. Please. We can arrange another meeting some other time."

"Gehrman, I just told you that I feel _fine_ , why do you insist on-"

"Actually, I agree with Gehrman," says Micolash.

Laurence grinds his teeth. _Oh, damn you._

"I really don't think you're feeling well now. You're having trouble talking, Laurence, that's not good at all. And I too would be alright with holding this meeting at a later date... would this work for you in three days' time?"

He makes the mistake of shifting in his chair, trying to angle himself even by just a fraction so that the vibrator hits against his prostate.

"...I suppose so, yes. Sorry, you all, I'm just very frustrated about this because I find that the topic at hand is a very important and relevant one."

Maria sighs. "I understand, Laurence. Do you need help you back to your room?"

"I don't thi-"

Laurence cuts himself off, in no small part due to the vibrator thrashing around inside of him. But what _really_ makes him worry is the matter of walking. No matter what, he's going to need help from someone. If he were to walk back to his room on his own it would be horrible, the vibrator making him stumble and clench up with every step, cock dripping through his clothes. He'd have such a difficult time keeping his balance, probably having to stop every few moments to balance on a pillar or wall just so he wouldn't collapse on the spot and cum there and then.

"-Yes, I think I'll need at least _some_ assistance."

"I'd be happy to help you back," Micolash offers, "It's the least I could do to help."

The fake sympathy in his voice is nothing short of cloying. Laurence knows exactly what Micolash's brand of "help" entails, and he also knows that with the state he's in he'll most likely need it. Badly.

"Very well, then. Gehrman and I will see what we can do later. Be sure to get plenty of rest, Laurence, I hope you're feeling better soon."

Laurence nods. "Thank you."

He's slow in getting up out of his chair. His legs buckle underneath him, every shift his clothing makes against him making him feel weaker by the second. Micolash grasps him firmly by the arm, watching Laurence struggle to keep his balance. Once more he's grateful for the heavy robes he wears as Vicar, otherwise the shameful secret he's supposed to hide would be on full display. Laurence the First Vicar - dutiful, serious, confident... who would suspect that beneath the persona he displays he's not much other than a needy whore?

"Look at just how much you need me," Micolash coos to him once they're out of earshot.

Laurence doesn't want to believe it. He'd been stubborn enough this morning to insist he could take the vibrator that had been shoved unceremoniously up his ass. "...What?"

"You were _so_ close to your breaking point during the meeting earlier. It was one of the most priceless things I'd ever seen in my life: You looked like you were only moments away from your eyes rolling up in the back of your head! Still, I've got to admit that you're stronger than I've given you credit for. Somehow you miraculously managed to not cum on the spot. And if we're looking at Gehrman and Maria, you're a pretty convincing liar, too."

He's oh-so-deliberate when he pulls Laurence up against him, his own stiffening cock pressing against his backside.

"But you don't have to lie to me, Laurence. I know you're a complete and utter slut who craves nothing more than my cock or a toy filling you up."

"I told you I would be able to keep it inside me. You only _think_ I won't be able to take it, Micolash, you don't know it for s-"

"Are you sure you don't want release now? Are you sure you don't want to be fucked proper in a bed and be allowed to cum? You've already got an excuse to be alone with me. Would certainly be a waste, and it almost looks like you're in pain. We may have our differences, Laurence, but I don't think I'd _ever_ wish something so awful on you. You know me well enough to be certain I wouldn't."

_But you would. And you're tempting me now, trying to pick apart my pride._

Laurence swallows. His resolve wavers.

_It's a good thing that I don't really have that much pride in the first place._

"You can fuck me. You can take me back to my room and fuck me."

_Dammit, dammit dammit - but I want this, don't I?_

"...Are you sure? Only hours ago you were insistent of the contrary."

"You were the one going out of your way to push me over the edge, Micolash. I'm sure."

"Splendid! Let's get you back to your room so we can have some privacy."

The process of Laurence returning to his room is an arduous one. For every step he takes he can feel the vibrator shift inside him. He keeps clenching his muscles instinctively even though he knows it won't fall out. His legs tremble with each step, cock aching between his legs. Though it's certainly not very warm out in the least he's still breaking out in a sweat, pretty face twisting up in pained arousal over what he's feeling. It's all too much, even with Micolash guiding him so he doesn't completely lose balance and stumble over.

"Have you considered what might have happened if Gehrman and Maria weren't as oblivious as they were then?"

For a moment his words are lost on Laurence, completely and utterly overwhelmed with both what he's feeling and the strength it takes to so much as stand. "I - I don't understand what you're implying-"

"We were lucky they had no idea what was going on in the slightest, Laurence. Could you imagine if they had? They'd probably be ashamed, finding out that their Vicar that they hold in such high regard is a cock-hungry slut that pretends he isn't even when he's got a toy plugging him up. To think: You could have climaxed right there on the spot and they might have witnessed it! ...But maybe you'd like that? Maybe they'd find out the sort of person you really are beneath your fake dignity and use you the way you're supposed to be used?"

"Micolash, stop talking like that, I'll cum-"

"Oh, but I _can't_ stop. Maybe you'd like to have one of them fuck you since you're so desperate? One of them could have taken you on the table right there and then, used you as a toy. What fun that would have been."

Laurence can only whimper very quietly in protest. He _would_ like that, no matter who he'd been with.

"I bet either of them would have done a number on you if they'd known what was up. If you're going to go around playing with toys, you might as well be used like one, eh?"

_"Micolash-"_

Micolash stops after that. It isn't out of pity, but it's out of a sense of awareness and pragmatism, awareness because he knows if he keeps it up for longer someone wandering the halls of the Healing Church might notice them both, pragmatism because if he'd kept it up Laurence really _would_ just cum on the spot thanks to his filthy words. So he stays silent for the rest of their walk back to Laurence's room. Laurence knows he can wait - to Micolash, there's no fun in Laurence climaxing too soon.

"Looks like we're back at your room. I guess you're free to rest up until your 'sickness' improves. Probably wouldn't hurt to keep an eye on you for a bit..."

Silence. Laurence stumbles onto the bed. His legs press together tight, he fiddles with his hands anxiously.

"I need your help."

"Now, now - manners. Maybe I'd be willing to help you if you were a bit nicer about it, Laurence."

He grits his teeth. 

"Well, define 'nice'," he says sharply.

"Define 'nice'? Oh, you should know what I mean by now, Laurence."

"Well, who knows considering the context we're in now?"

"Very well. I suppose by 'nice' I mean 'groveling'. Beg. Plead for me, let me know just how badly you want my help."

He shuffles so that he's on his knees, yanking down his trousers and undergarments. Shaking with anticipation, Laurence takes fistfuls of the heavy white robes he wears and lifts them up, revealing his thighs soiled with pre-cum and cock straining. His voice comes out high and stuttering, the movement of the toy still inside of him making him trip over his own words.

"Please," he begs, "Please fuck me. Just take me right here and now, I'm yours, you'll get whatever it is you want from me - anything so long as I can get relief from everything I'm feeling now. I need you so _badly,_ Micolash, need you to hold control over me and do what you want."

Micolash tilts his head.

"Hm, you provide a very convincing argument, Laurence. I might as well fuck you if that's what you really want - is it?"

"Yes."

"Very well then, on your back with your legs apart."

He's so exposed, Laurence thinks to himself when he lies down on his back. He uses his arms to lift his legs up, exposing the vibrator that's been stretching him all this time and his cock streaking pre-cum all across his belly. Micolash observes the scene for a moment, eyes devouring the sight of Laurence vulnerable and presenting himself to him. Then, he bends down to slowly ease the vibrator out.

Laurence braces himself. His eyes close. He waits to hear the telltale rustling of clothing being removed, for Micolash to fill him up once more with his cock. But it never comes. Impatient, Laurence keeps his eyes shut. _What could be taking him so long? Micolash may like to tease me, but he's never this slow. I wonder-_

Any questions he may have are answered when Micolash roughly shoves the vibrator up his ass again.

Laurence lets out a gut-wrenching gasp of pleasure, tensing up at the feeling of the toy inside of him once more. "Micolash?!"

"I said I'd fuck you, I just never said I'd do it with my cock." He leans down over Laurence, warm breath condensing on his skin. "Would you like me to?"

He pulls the vibrator out again, ramming it back inside. Laurence can feel the phantasm violently shaking around in the wooden toy's interior. His eyelids flicker open and shut, hands squeezing harder and struggling to pull his legs farther apart.

"-No! I've been waiting for too long, I need you to fuck me _now_ -"

"You're right, I'd only prolong your suffering if I fucked you directly. Better to get it over and done with now with this toy. Besides-" he mocks affection when he smooths Laurence's hair away from his face "-I like the way you look all plugged up with this toy inside of you."

He grabs onto the flared base of the vibrator, slowly pushing it back up Laurence's ass. He bites the inside of his mouth, the fear he feels at possibly being caught the only reason he isn't absolutely drowning in lust. But the fear proves futile and he abandons caution, drool sliding past his lips and moans leaking out of his open mouth. He shakes from Micolash's handiwork, hands that still keep his legs spread apart trying to push himself back against the toy.

"Enjoying yourself?"

Laurence struggles to speak, choking on his own speak. He's approaching climax - he knows it. "Y - yes -"

"Even though you weren't able to keep this same toy inside of you for longer than a few hours?"

Micolash stops. The vibrator twitches at the rim of his ass, the tremors against the sensitive pucker of skin absolute torture for Laurence. His cock's glistening with pre-cum, he just needs to say the right thing so Micolash can be satisfied with seeing him be humiliated proper and get on with it.

"Even so," he gets out.

Micolash doesn't pause again when he returns to fucking him. 

Laurence orgasms in a matter of minutes. His muscles clench and unclench, a sharp bliss washing over him. He can feel the cum dripping from his cock that stains his stomach and clothes, listens to the wavering cries that leave his mouth at the feeling of the toy pushing in and out of him roughly. He lets go of his legs and lies panting upon the bed, struggling to take in air.

"I hope that satisfied you, Vicar Laurence." 

He gives a barely perceptible nod of his head. When he tries to affirm with a response, he only lets out a shaky little whine.

"I'll be taking my leave, then, if you don't mind. It probably wouldn't be wise of me to stick around when you're unwell - especially not if someone down here at the Healing Church could catch me long after I said I'd leave."

"Mm."

The sound of Laurence's heavy panting follows Micolash out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we now return to our regularly scheduled program of micolash torturing laurence. my versions of these two are SO goddamn fucked up (mainly on micolash's side but id be lying if i didn't say laurence is kind of a little bitch at points). i love them.


	7. in public

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pairing(s): laurence/brador  
> warning(s): brador being his possessive, sadistic self i guess. also: dubious consent!!!  
> notes: set before laurence enters a relationship w/ ludwig.

It's happening _again_.

He knows he should be used to it by now - after all, Laurence has said time and time again that he doesn't have any other idea of how to provide the Church with proper funding. Still, Brador can't help but wonder if it's an excuse. For all he knows Laurence could be using the explanation of this being the best way to acquire money as a means of entertaining himself. He wouldn't be surprised if it was the case. But knowing just what Laurence is up to, right in front of him no less ( _he's mine, he's mine, he's mine,_ echoes loud and clear in Brador's mind) fills him with rage.

He's sidled up to one of the wealthier guests at this party, looking just as lovely in formal clothes as he does in his white robes as Vicar. This one's an older-looking man - Brador guesses around his forties, perhaps - with brown hair and indistinguishable features. Oh, it starts out innocent enough. It always does. Laurence is laughing away with this noble, obviously only doing it to get on his good side. _His_ Laurence. His dear, beloved Laurence who is his and no one else's. He tells himself he has to stop being so jealous, Laurence is just playing up his charms around someone else because of what he'll get in exchange-

Then the man _touches_ him.

It's subtle, but he watches the man rest his hand on Laurence's ass. His eyes go wide for a second and then he laughs, leaning in a little closer to the man. He watches him bend down and whisper something into Laurence's ear. Brador can't tell what he's saying, but the wide-eyed look on his beloved's face before he starts laughing again says enough. 

_This isn't fair._

Laurence bites down lightly on his lip, worry lines creasing his pretty face.

_This isn't right._

He leans in closer to the man to whisper something in his ear and they roar with laughter again.

_I know you have your reasons for whoring yourself out - we need the money. Still, no one but me should be allowed to fuck you, to touch you, to hurt you._

Brador takes to sulking in the corner. It isn't nearly as repulsive if he doesn't see anything. Laurence is, unfortunately, right. Offering up his body to anyone willing to take him is simply what sells. He attracts sponsors like bees buzzing to a hive, Brador reflects over his wine. Yet it's still horribly disgusting. To think: Those damn pigs are there feeling up and fucking his dearest Laurence, thinking that they are allowed to ruin him. No. Only Brador should be able to wreck Laurence. Not these vile parasites, who believe that they can use his precious Laurence like a toy all because they're rich enough to pay him off in the end. Still…

Laurence is the one encouraging them. It's perfectly clear that his actions can't go unpunished.

He wonders what method of discipline he ought to enact once he gets Laurence alone. Tie him up and gag his mouth shut while bouncing him up and down on his cock? Fuck his sweet mouth, watching him flinch and choke on his girth? Maybe take big, bruising bites all along his neck and jaw and make hot tears course down his face, delicious crying wringing its way out of Laurence's throat. He always thinks Laurence looks his prettiest whenever he's crying, that's second only to the way Laurence's face screws up in an expression of orgasmic pleasure mixed with searing pain whenever Brador roughs him up enough. Whatever he does, it'll have to be thorough. Thorough enough to make his Laurence remember who he belongs to and who he serves behind closed doors-

"Brador?"

His beloved has found his way through the crowd to where Brador skulks on the outer fringes of the party activity, drinking wine and purposely letting his eye stray farther away. He acknowledges Laurence's welcome presence with a slight nod.

"Ah, it's nice to finally get away from the chaos for a few moments." Laurence sighs, slumping against a wall. He looks so very cute - almost innocent - as he leans back, eyes closed and an exhale whistling out through his mouth. It almost makes Brador soften, want to go easy on him. Almost.

"Mm." 

"I know these mingles can be a little... overwhelming, for you and me both, but they're necessary. How else will we get sponsors let alone get word out about the Healing Church and what we can do for Yharnam?"

Brador grunts.

"I'm sorry, though. I know you don't like these sorts of gatherings very much. Still, I'm happy you decide to accompany me regardless. I like having you to keep me company."

(That does it.)

"As much as the company of those older _pigs_ you whore yourself out to?" Brador spits out.

Laurence's eyes go wide. When he speaks it is a whisper, as soft and barely audible as silk. "W... whore myself out?"

"In front of me, no less. Me? Who you _know_ not to fuck around with?"

"Brador, I-"

"You're doing it for the money, I know, I know. Of _course_ you are. Surely you're not going around letting old and ugly _pigs_ fuck you when you're hardly worthy of them because they treat you better than me?"

Tears swim in Laurence's eyes. The background noise of the partygoers is far quieter once Laurence speaks again. "I'm sorry, I really _do_ need the money. It's the only way I know of. And I know that they can't satisfy me nearly as much as you do, Brador, but I have to do this for everyone's sake, for yours, too-"

"You're encouraging them. I saw how you let that piece of shit feel you up. You didn't do anything to stop him."

"I only did it because I had to."

"Quit the excuses, Laurence. I know you're nothing more than a damned slut. You can go around prancing as the Vicar of the new Healing Church in your fancy clothes as much as you like, but deep down you're always after nothing but cock."

Brador worries for a moment if he's being too loud. Besides, the sight of Laurence looking so distressed pains him - he likes making his dearest cry out in pain, but nothing like this. He casts the momentary regret aside. He must do what must be done.

"I'm no whore," Laurence says softly. "Not any longer, I'm not. That was a thing of the past - I'm changed now."

"Then let me do what I want with you."

"Yes, Brador, we can find somewhere more secluded, a place to ourselves where no one will hear us or stumble across us, just give me time-"

"Nothing like that. I meant right here and now."

Laurence stares at him, incredulous. Brador's response is a smirk.

"What?"

"You heard me. If it's true that only I can satisfy you, then it's only natural that you ought to prove it. As soon as possible. Because you were still provoking those bastards, Laurence."

Laurence gulps. "I... but how?"

"Up against a wall, I suppose." He begins to close the gap between them, curling his fingers to touch up against Laurence's cheek. "You had the nerve of letting them feel you up in public, it's only fair that I get to do the same."

Now _this_ is something he likes to see: That pretty, pretty face all creased up with worry, but flushed faintly pink with the first signs of arousal. Laurence lets Brador close the gap, reaching up to wrap his arms over his neck. It's a gesture, a sweet sign of submission from his dearest. He edges them up against a wall. It's dangerous, what they're doing. If one person, let along the wrong person, catches sight of the supposedly respectable Vicar Laurence letting himself be fucked in public... Brador doesn't care. He doesn't care about the Vicar, he cares about Laurence. Namely, Laurence's loyalty to him and him alone.

Then he starts to feel fear - delectable, fear that gives Brador a thrill. "Brador, what if someone spots us? What will we do th-"

He gets cut off by Brador burying his face against his neck. He has to bend down to do it, of course, Laurence being a little smaller than him. His knee bumps up against the slowly growing swell between Laurence's legs, he loves that telltale sign of further arousal to come.

"You told me you're no whore, but-" he nudges against Laurence's slowly stiffening cock. "What, pray tell, is this?"

He likes the strangled erotic little noise - part fear, part excitement - Laurence lets out. "Brador..."

"You know," Brador whispers, pressing Laurence further up against the wall, "I was very, _very_ close to doing something even worse to you."

It's rather endearing, watching Laurence stutter on his words when Brador's teeth graze over the delicate skin of his neck. "Wha - what would you - what would you have done?"

"Much worse than simple contact. I would have fucked your brains out right in front of everyone here at this party. You _need_ to be punished, Laurence."

"Punished, ah-!"

"I would've taken off my pants and plugged your mouth up with my cock. People would've been staring at us - you, because you'd be revealing yourself as the slut you really are. But you'd be good, wouldn't you?"

"I-" Laurence squeezes his eyes shut and pushes back against Brador, the slight gesture of submission sends a thrill of arousal through his body, "-Yes, I'd be good."

"Afterwards, I'd make sure you'd get on all fours for me so I'd be better able to fuck your ass. You'd bleed because of my cock and all the bites I'd leave on you... but I know you'd like it. You're a little harlot when it comes to pain."

"Yes, I am-"

"No one's seen us yet. I'm half-hoping they do. Just so they could see you as you really are - hungry for cock. Do you think that the other partygoers here would fuck you?"

He heaves against Laurence, savoring the feel of sweat sticking clothes to his skin. Pressed up against the wall Laurence's face is flushed pink, cock between his legs pressing sharply against Brador's own through his robes. His neck is covered faintly in bite marks, nothing he can't hide. He opens his mouth to respond to Brador but then clamps it shut again by slapping a hand to his mouth, fearing that they may already be too loud. Good.

"I wouldn't be surprised if they did. I feel like they would. But they wouldn't be me. Who can make you feel the way you do - no one else, right? Only me?"

"Only - only you."

"Only I can satisfy you the way no one else properly has. Can't I?"

"Only you," Laurence murmurs. He dissolves, clinging close to Brador and muttering a chorus of "only you, only you, only you" again and again and again.

Most times, Brador would deny him. Laurence doesn't get the privilege of cumming till he's able to please Brador, first. Tonight, though, climaxing in a room full of people liable to hear him is his punishment. If anyone catches them (Brador slightly doubts it, considering just how crowded this place really is) then they'll get a rather lovely display that shows as much as Laurence whores himself out, Brador's the only one who can treat him proper. 

He grinds against him - up and down, up and down, back and forth, back and forth. Laurence is only able to balance himself weakly against the wall, face scrunching up. He watches a line of drool trickle down his lips, delights in seeing the worry lines that crease up along his face. His cock's straining pathetically against his clothes, he's eager for Brador to touch him proper judging by the panting noises he tries so hard to keep down.

"Only me, right?"

"Mm - mm - only you-"

Brador has to keep himself restrained to keep from coming. The sight of Laurence coming undone - with so many people crowded in the same room as them, no less - is a temptation he has to resist.

"Brador-" his voice comes out in high, whiny stutters, "Brador, I'm going to-"

A curious, muffled little noise barely escapes Laurence's throat before he claps a hand to his mouth. His fingernails dig into Brador's shoulders when he cums, slim body tensing up beneath his clothes. Slowly, high whining calms down to shaky pants, he slumps against the wall.

"You're going to have to stick around for the rest of this party, you know."

(Did anyone catch sight of them? Brador half-hopes they did.)

"Yes, I... I will - I dirtied myself, though-"

"That's your punishment. For now. You're going to have to go around this place, stinking in your own cum. Maybe at least one person here will catch on? No buts, though."

Laurence nods. "I understand."

"If I see you letting someone else feel you up again..." He squeezes Laurence's arm tightly, enough to leave a bruise, "Well, you know what'll happen."

"I'll try to be good," Laurence promises. He stumbles out of Brador's grasp and into the crowd, limping away till he's out of sight.

Brador knows Laurence has the capacity to be good. To be good for him. But he knows how much Laurence likes pain served alongside his pleasure. And if he ends up breaking his promise, then Brador certainly knows numerous ways to remind Laurence of who he belongs to.

_Talk up the rich sponsors all you like. Remember, though-_

A blonde woman giggles as Laurence strikes up conversation with her. It seems innocent enough.

_Remember you are mine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...you know the more of these i write the more fucked up my treatment of laurence gets. i aint complaining. ik alfred torture's p popular here (thank u for the quality content hambone) and i think it is just as important to fuck up the resident prettyboy vicar too <3
> 
> i mean this is just grinding tho... for now. dw ill be sure to fuck up laurence more in my other fic.
> 
> anyways i! need! more! fucked-up! and! nasty! smut ideas ft. laurence!!! gimme. not necessarily for the kink bingo... just in general... sorry not sorry laurence, you are too cute for your own good.
> 
> thank yall for reading. (mic drop) gnight


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